


With fights like these...

by WilwyWaylan



Series: Feuilly Week [5]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Sorry !, and make-out, contains Hugo-bashing, stupid little idea, with lots of meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 18:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12538936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilwyWaylan/pseuds/WilwyWaylan
Summary: Bahorel is bored, which always leads to stupid ideas. And what kind of stupid idea would it be to attack Feuilly's tastes in books ?





	With fights like these...

**Author's Note:**

> Last day of Feuilly week ! Today's prompt was "19th century literature is for nerds" "come and fight me". So of course I had to. Sorry Hugo.

If there was one thing that Bahorel loved, it was needling Feuilly. Not only was it very easy, but the results were always hilarious. Not that Feuilly got angry easily. This man had an admirable self-control, and didn't lose his cool easily. But he never backed down from a challenge or a conversation. And if the subject was something dear to him, he could become terrible and lyric at the same time. He just needed the right poking and prodding.

The meeting had been unusually calm today. Even Grantaire had refrained from making his usual remarks during Enjolras' speech, only looking up from his sketchbook from time to time and smiling at the blond man. Useful technique that made Enjolras lost track twice. It had been funny to watch, but now, the two of them were sitting in a corner, talking in hushed tones. Nothing fun would come this way. Courfeyrac was strangely calm tonight, watching Combeferre read. Joly had left early with Bossuet, arguing that maybe he was coming down with the plague (that would be his third bout of the black plague, according to his various cries). Jehan was furiously scribbling in his corner, and disturbing him would mean death by writing implements. And Marius was texting Cosette. Which left Feuilly to distract him. And he had an idea.

Bahorel walked to where his friend was seated. Once they made eye contact, he slowly bent over and pulled a book from the redhead's book. Feuilly was following his moves like a hawk, but didn't say anything. Deliberatly, Bahorel took the book and read the title :

\- Les Misérables ? You're reading that ?

Feuilly just kept staring at him, as if this didn't even deserve an answer. He knew that his friend was just getting started, and Bahorel knew he knew. The taller man thumbed through the book, and remarked, almost flippantly :

\- That's a big book for a little squirrell like you. 

Still silent starring. But okay, jokes about size *were* overrated.

\- You know, he went on, I don't really understand what's all the fuss about Hugo.

Feuilly's fingers tightened a little around his pen. Ah, good. 

\- I mean... He has points, of course, but... All those disgressions... Like twenty pages just for a detail, do you think it's very reasonable ? Who cares, really ? 

The redhead closed his notebook strongly enough to make a sound. At the next table, Courfeyrac glanced at him, then went back to his Combeferre-watching. Inside, Bahorel was rejoicing. Good. Just a little more, and he would get a good little discussion.

\- And all those... references he makes. I'm sure some of them are so obscure that no one else than him gets them. Him and his weird bunch of little friends, of course. 

Slowly, Feuilly got up. It was fascinating to watch, something like the Kraken rising up from the depth of the sea, promising utter destruction to the one disturbing him. Bahorel would have been scared, were he not brave, used to him, and totally devoid of common sense. So he just smiled sweetly, and asked :

\- Is there a problem ?

\- Well, Feuilly answered, arms crossed. What do you think ?

\- I think there is.

\- What are you trying to do ? 

\- Obviously getting you to discuss some things. Like Hugo's love for symbolism.

\- Because it looked a lot like you were picking a fight.

\- And ? Does it work ?

This time, Feuilly glared at him. He planted his hands on his hips, got closer, and hissed :

\- You'll have to try harder.

There they were. Grinning from ear to ear, Bahorel announced :

\- 19th century litterature is for nerds and Hugo was a punk-ass bitch. 

Silence fell on the room. Everyone was watching Feuilly, ready to run when the redhead would inevitably explose. But instead, he just stepped closer to the other man and growled :

\- Come and fight me.

\- My pleasure.

Bahorel grabbed Feuilly by the arm and all but dragged him to the door. Before anyone could intervene, they had left. The others exchanged glances, wondering what the hell just happened. Finally, Courfeyrac asked :

\- Should we do something ?

\- What do you want to do ? Combeferre retorted. I wouldn't put myself between them when they are... Arguing.

\- But you heard them ! They are going to fight.

\- Feuilly *did* look furious, Enjolras added. Maybe we should check on them ?

There was an awkward moment of silence, then Grantaire sighed :

\- I volunteer. We need to be sure than Enjolras' army doesn't lose two members at each other's hands, right ?

Enjolras threw him a look when he got up, half-annoyed and half-disappointed. Grantaire just smiled at him. 

Feuilly and Bahorel weren't in the main room of the Musain, nor did they step outside the front door to settle their differences. It left the back door. He followed the hallway, and pushed it. Well, they were there. But not really throwing punches, accusations or arguments at each other. Instead, they looked very engrossed in a make-out session. Feuilly's hands were gripping Bahorel's hair tight, and Bahorel's were under Feuilly's shirt. There were several dark marks on the redhead's neck, and a scratch on the other man's. 

Grantaire looked at them for a few seconds, then politely cleared his throat. Both men jumped, and Feuilly almost knocked Bahorel over in his hast to get him off of him. 

\- We were... he started. I mean...

\- Don't bother, Grantaire cut him with a raised hand. If this is how you want to fight...

Both men started sputtering, cutting each other in their hast to convince him that they *weren't* making out, but he didn't let them, and went back inside, to the meeting room. Well, at least they wouldn't kill each other. Enjolras would have been quite disappointed. But he would have to needle them about it later, because that surely wasn't the kind of fighting Bahorel did teach at the gym, that was for sure...


End file.
